


All We Need Is An Excuse

by RussianWitch



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Anal Sex, Introspection, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, no redeeming qualities what so ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 18:16:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8337811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: Having sex with the alien is a bad idea





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd

He uses his full strength, and feels a ragged moan vibrate through both of them. There is something to be said for that kind of—freedom. The body filling his lap shuddering, and tightening around him to the point of pain. 

Having sex with the alien is a bad idea. 

Unfortunately, out of the suit it's hard to remember that the pretty reporter is the number one danger to Earth. Not when Clark bites his bottom lip while watching Bruce over the rims of his glasses, until Bruce can think of nothing else but sinking his teeth in that plump flesh as well. 

Not when 'Superman's' eyes follow him around like a starved dog watches a steak. 

They'd been circling each other since the clean up after the Luthor instigated disaster had finished, tentatively establishing rules of conduct between the two of them and Diana. It was really her fault that Bruce's judgment lapsed enough to— Clark whines, and the arms of the chair splinter in his fists. Unthinkingly Bruce releases the dick he's been teasing with too light touches, to deliver a slap across an abdomen that might as well be sculptured marble. Somehow it works; before anything other than the chair gets damaged, Clark remembers himself and sags back against Bruce's chest with a tortured moan. "Please, please, please—," spilling from him like prayer. 

Bruce has had some of the most beautiful people in the world in his bed, but this honest awe at every sensation Bruce coaches from the stupendous body, is new. Clark's head falls back on Bruce's shoulder, his throat arches in to Bruce's hand as he strains to fuck himself harder, and Bruce wishes for a mirror: for a better look at the heaving chest covered in dark, luscious fur that glistens with sweat. He wants to see Clark's dick slap wetly against his abdomen, sticky strands of pre-come a delicate spider web along the thick curve. Most of all, Bruce wants to see the alien's face as he begs for Bruce's touch.

Clark's muscles tighten under Bruce's hand, flutter as he shifts his weight and strains to rise higher almost pulling off completely before dropping back into Bruce's lap, making him swallow curses. The need to see Clark's face overtakes all other considerations. Straining, Bruce lifts the younger male off his dick, dumps him on the carpet in front of the chair. Clark whimpers, looking up at Bruce like a kicked puppy: a god on his knees, hollowing his back in an unconscious offering. Bruce drops beside him, prods and tugs until Clark is on his back long legs falling open in welcome, then trying to close when the farm boy remembers himself. "No!" Bruce growls, slapping Clark's inner thigh to make him spread again. "Show me how much you want it!" 

"Bruce?" Clark pants in confusion, sitting up to reach for Bruce who slaps his hands away and pushes him back. 

"Show me where you want me." He grates, watching in amazement as a blush starts at the tips of Clark's ears and goes all the way down to where it fades among the fur on his belly. He wonders if it's possible to keep Clark blushing permanently. "Bruce, please can't we just—?" The alien whines, falling silent when Bruce busies himself with nibbling on Clark's knee. "No, not until you show me." He meets pleading eyes, holds them refusing to look away first. With a shaky gasp, Clark drops his head, leaving Bruce basking in a pleasant glow of victory. He watches greedily as Clark raises his hands, caresses himself clumsily trying to entice, and get things over with at the same time until his hands are framing his dick. Fingers trembling, nails digging into skin as Clark pants, muscles straining with the strain of—something sparks in Clark's eyes, and Bruce's control over him breaks. He's on his back, arms pinned at his sides in Clark's unbreakable grip, the alien floating over him in the blink of an eye. "It's not nice to tease!" Clark hisses. 

Perversely, helplessly watching the alien hovering over his body only fans Bruce's arousal reducing his struggles to theatrics as Clark mounts him. The alien sighs, purring with pleasure, and Bruce forgets whatever plan he might have had for the afternoon. "Fuck me!" Clark demands, rolling his hips, smirking viciously, and Bruce grits his teeth and complies. 

Digging his heels in, Bruce thrusts up, strains to bury himself in the alien heat as deep as he can. His back is going to be killing him later,—but it's worth it. He doesn't even realize his arms are free to grab at the impossible body riding him, until Clark laughs and tangles his fingers in Bruce's hair holding him still to taste his mouth. He tries to buck the creature, but Clark doesn't even notice; too absorbed in getting himself off. "Bruce, Bruce, Bruce—" The litany spurs him on, makes Bruce drive himself into Clark's body harder, and faster. He fucks into the alien until all of his muscles are protesting and Clark sags over him, losing his focus, until Bruce can get Clark on his back again folding him almost double.

Unlike a human, Clark just moans for more despite the uncomfortable position, his dick wet and fat making a mess of his chest. 

"Show me!" He growls, grinding himself deep into the eternally virgin ass, and with a strangled scream Clark comes spattering his chest and face. Bruce would love nothing more than to lean down, and drag his tongue through the mess, but who knows what the consequence of that would be. Dragging his fingers through the mess, Bruce gathers some of it on his fingers and shoves them in Clark's gaping mouth wiping them on the alien's tongue.  

Clark whimpers, his the slick muscle wrapping around Bruce's fingers, the farm boy blush returning with a vengeance. "Bruce—," Clark moans around his fingers, nipping at the pads, his body becoming heavy in Bruce's grasp. "Please—I want to feel you—come." He blushes and looks away, but Bruce feels him tighten around his dick. 

He should be polite, and finish himself off—only he doesn't have to.

Pulling out, Bruce is gratified by the dissatisfied whimper of protest, he manhandles Clark onto his knees. Grabbing the alien by the hair, Bruce forces him head back, makes Clark look at the mirror on the other side of the room reflecting them in all their glory. Bruce might be more of a mess: sweat covered and wild eyed, but Clark looks dazed and drunk, almost broken and still needy and somehow innocent. Bruce wants to wipe that innocence off the alien's face, wants to rip off the Clark mask and see the truth underneath. He pushes a tight cheek aside and looks down at what should be a red, ruined hole—only the alien body has already recovered, no traces of Bruce's efforts left behind. "Please—," Clark demands, his hole winking an invitation, and Bruce slams back in, grinds in deep, tries to ignore Clark twisting around to watch him. Even with his eyes closed, Bruce can feel the alien's gaze on his skin: taking everything in, studying, memorizing—Bruce clamps a hand on Clark's neck, the alien yields, allows himself to be pushed down until his forehead hits the plush carpet. Putting his full weight on Clark's back, fills his senses with the creature and lets himself go; spilling himself into the impossibly hot body accepting him so eagerly. 

Collapsing at Clark's side, slipping from the impossibly body to land in an undignified heap next to him, Bruce hates being out of breath. The rug scratches annoyingly, but he can't quite make himself get up and move to the bed. "That was nice." Clark mumbles against his ribs, somehow having moved without Bruce noticing. An arm curls around Bruce's abdomen, petting him awkwardly like Clark isn't sure if he's still allowed to touch, or how. Then all of a sudden, the grip changes and Bruce is lifted off the floor as the alien floats towards the bed. "I didn't realize it could get so intense." Clark muses. 

"Didn't you?" Clark has been around, Bruce knows, it's hard to believe he hasn't had encounters far more memorable than a casual fuck after meeting at yet another fundraiser for something or other. "And what the fuck are you doing?" He doesn't get carried around, by anyone, not unless he's mostly dead. "I figured you'd prefer not falling asleep on the floor." The alien somehow manages to shrug mid float, dropping Bruce none too gently on the bed. Instead of landing, Clark stays hovering over Bruce's body, leaving them staring at each other until Bruce manages to will his arm to rise, and shoves the alien away planting his hand on Clark's face. "Get down here."  He orders, Clark just laughs, only landing after enough time has passed that it's clear he's not doing it because of Bruce's order, making himself comfortable with his head on Bruce's chest. 

"Don't get too comfortable." He reminds the frustrating creature. 

"There is nothing going on the police can't take care of without you." The alien murmurs sulkily against his ribs. 

"Clark!" He snaps, the urge to shove him off and leave itching under Bruce's skin. 

"Just five more minutes, then I'll—I'll go." Something about the offer rings false: up until now Bruce's tendency to not stick around has never been a problem.

That this is the first time they have managed to make it anywhere near a bed, is irrelevant. Bruce looks down at the alien curled against him, and finds himself offering. "You can spend the night, I'll be back after patrol." 

The kiss he receives in answer is breathtaking, and aggravating as the alien forgets himself and Bruce ends up dragged into an embrace like a rag doll.


End file.
